


Proprietary Indulgences

by celinamarniss



Series: Triumvirate [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Compromised Consent, Imperial AU, Imperial Culture, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Prince Luke, Sexual Slavery, Threesome - F/M/M, Xenophobia, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-27 09:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20757896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss
Summary: Mara never expected the Emperor to give her away to Grand Admiral Thrawn—or to offer him the Prince of Naboo as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/gifts).

> This fic is all evilmouse’s fault. She wanted a threesome between her faves and I did my best. 
> 
> I am incredibly grateful to her and JediMordSith for beta-ing and cheerleading. As a team they came up with the title! evilmouse hunted out many many many typos and word doubling that I missed. This fic would be much shabbier without her polishing it up. JediMordSith was especially helpful in working out Luke’s motivations. She wrote a whole list of points. It was incredible. 
> 
> This AU mashes together nu canon and Legends/EU characters and worldbuilding. For instance, this version of Thrawn probably bears more relation to nu canon Thrawn, and has brought along his nu canon sidekicks while retaining a few of the old. 
> 
> On Content Warnings: Dubious consent due to Mara and Luke being given to Thrawn for sexual purposes. Once they all get on the same page, everyone is enthusiastic about the boning, but Luke and Mara were pushed into a situation that they didn't choose.

The marble archway to the Imperium Throne Room curved like the bleached rib bone of a krayt dragon above Mara’s head, a containment field shimmering inside the sweep of the grand arch, the opaque haze separating those who had been admitted from those waiting just outside the archway in an orderly queue. 

Courtiers were granted entrance into the hall one by one, after walking through a gauntlet of scanners and the row of Crimson Guards who flanked the walls. The Guards were said to sense the merest threat to the Emperor and would kill any treasonous conspirator on the spot. It was all theater, though Mara knew that Crimson Guard had such abilities, as well as an unswerving devotion to their master. 

Nara had nothing to fear. She glided past the scanners and the Guards to the black protocol droid that stood by marble arch, announcI guess each guest as they stepped past the shimmer into the Throne Room. 

“Announcing Lady Mara Jade of Coruscant, Hand to the Emperor.” 

The containment field tingled over her skin as the droid’s solemn tones rang out over the assembly. She felt the eyes of the Court fall on her, whispers of interest, fear, and desire brushing through their minds like a twilight zephyr. 

As befitted the celebration of a Military Triumph, the Imperium Throne Room was resplendent, hung with banners bearing the Imperial seal and the sinuous insignia of the night’s victor, a monstrous multi-headed creature worked in silver embroidery on the blood-red cloth. 

The dress she’d chosen for the Triumph was a sleek Alksandr gown made of black nightmoth silk that brushed the floor. The chest and shoulders of the dress were covered in gold beading, the shoulders layered like imitation epaulets. The gown was subtle for a Court function, but Military Triumphs demanded a more sober display than a typical gathering on Coruscant. Her hair was teased up, curling around the base of a halo of thin golden spikes that crowned her head. The bright flash of gold would make her visible from anywhere in the hall, and it was all she needed to distinguish herself in a room half-filled with dull military uniforms. 

It caught the eye of a stunningly beautiful woman in the delegation from Hapes, who gave Mara a provocative glance from across the room. A potential assignation, later, away from the gaze of the Court. Mara offered her a coy smile in return, but didn’t cross the room to introduce herself. She knew her charms—was celebrated in the Court for them—but it wasn’t wise to stand near the Hapans and invite comparison. 

Instead, she plastered a vapid expression on her face and flitted from courtier to courtier, until she Reached the small group of sycophants surrounding the Minister of Propaganda. The position gave her a clear view of the front of the hall while appearing to listen to Pollux Hax drone on relentlessly about Imperial policy. “...The Grand Admiral represents the need for a strong and flexible fleet—since the failure of project Stardust over a decade ago...” It was nothing she hadn’t heard at hundreds of Court receptions before. 

The man being honored that night stood near the steps that led to the raised dais of the Emperor’s throne, his pure white uniform bright against the grey and olive flock of aides who clustered around him. Grand Admiral Thrawn had crushed the Mandalorian Army on the Outer Rim, bringing to end the Insurgency that had troubled the edges of the Empire for nearly three years. In a single campaign, he had brought the entire system back under the control of the Empire. 

She knew most of his entourage on sight, though they only attended the Court on the occasions that he was also present. His captain, Gilad Pellaeon, a relic from the Clone Wars, stood near his commanding officer, looking as though he’d lost his entire fortune at a fatheir race. He occasionally exchanged words with another hanger-on, a handsome bearded ISB agent whose name she had not bothered to remember. 

Arihnda Pryce stood at Thrawn’s right hand, in a simple green gown appropriate for a military aide. She murmured in his ear as the governor from Duros approached to offer his congratulations to the Grand Admiral. Mara caught the other woman’s expression as Thrawn turned away to greet the Representative, her face sharp with longing. The Admiral still hadn’t fucked her yet, then. 

The governor made a wide gesture with his arm, his voice raised nearly loud enough to be heard over the crowd, drawing stares of barely concealed hostility from nearby courtiers. Aliens could be so crude. There were a few species that flourished at Court—Bothans, for instance, _ understood _ the rules and played them well, even if they were only slightly more civilized than Wookies—but the alien cohort was badly outnumbered by human courtiers. 

The Emperor, being human himself, naturally favored humans—_especially _in his military, where it was nearly impossible for an alien to hold a rank as visible as a Grand Admiral. Thrawn had come from uncivilized Wild Space, and had the audacity to climb swiftly up the ranks until he had claimed a place in the Circle of Twelve. 

It had not made him popular at Court. 

Thrawn had also insisted that the Court use an archaic queuing system to organize the Triumph’s reception, so that well-wishers were summoned into his presence, one by one, by some order that she hadn’t been able to discern. It interrupted the usual pattern of a Court function. There were ways that things were done. The complicated hierarchy of the Court usually dictated the structure of any function held in the Imperial Palace, and Thrawn had circumvented the traditional flow of the room, disrupting the usual games that were played to gain prestige and slight one’s opponents. 

At a _ normal _ court function, Mara could predict the flow of the room, where and when each guest would make their play for the attention of the officer or courtier being honored that night. It was a talent honed by years of watching hundreds of official Court functions, knowing all the players and the rules of the game—knowing that she had an edge the other players lacked. 

Officially, the woman who held the title of Emperor’s Hand was a personal aide to Palpatine, his spy in the Court and his voice in the ears of Admirals and Moffs. What the Court didn’t know was every Hand had been chosen for her innate ability to use the same powers that the Emperor drew on to rule the galaxy. He was her master, teaching her to sense emotions and pull intention out of another being’s mind, to discern a lie and exert influence over weaker willed individuals. 

By law, her talents were illegal and she would have died for them if anyone but her master, who was above the law, had been caught training her. It was their secret. His lessons were rare, and Mara treasured them. 

“Announcing Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. Announcing Prince Skywalker of Naboo.” 

All around the hall conversations sputtered and died, replaced by furtive, fearful whispers. Even framed by the massive arch of the grand entrance, the Sith Lord’s presence seemed to tower over the assemblage, anger roiling out of him like a wave of black tar. Even those present who were as Force sensitive as mynocks shifted uneasily as the dark lord entered the hall. 

His son, the Prince of Naboo, was a small, unassuming figure by his side, easily overlooked in his father’s shadow. He wore black, like his father, with a fashionable half-cape hung off one shoulder, and the layered shirt at his throat was the deepest purple aeien silk. 

Everyone knew he was his father’s apprentice in the dark arts of the Sith. The Sith could walk into your mind as easily as they could walk through walls, the whispers said. Vader liked to crush the throats of anyone who crossed him, and the Emperor’s power was unlimited and devastating. No one had ever witnessed Skywalker display any of the power he had allegedly inherited. Perhaps he was just a spoiled prince from a provincial planet. 

When Skywalker had arrived on Coruscant a few years ago, rumors had flown about the Court that Vader intended to put his son forward as a successor to the throne. Why else would the prince of Naboo come to Coruscant, after spending his entire life in his mother’s care? 

There were whispers, spoken under the breath in unregulated corridors, that Vader’s actual motive was to overthrow his master and put his son on the throne. Vader obviously intended to install his own dynasty, with or without his master’s blessing. The Emperor had ignored the rumors and showered Vader’s son with the same favor and privileges he granted Vader. 

In the years since, Skywalker had failed to make any significant alliances, or taken any steps to woo the Coruscanti nobility. Oh, he made appearances at court functions, danced at balls and attended Triumphs. She’d heard gossip that he’d bedded various baronesses and ace pilots, but he’d never been associated with anyone with real power. The Emperor had never publicly announced an heir, and while the question of who would inherit the Empire was still hotly debated, the whispers of Skywalker’s chances had died away. 

As Vader swept across the floor, Skywalker broke from his orbit, headed for Bail Organa of Alderaan. The old man was a lonely island in the grand hall, with only a few decrepit counselors to keep him company. Most of the Court kept their distance from the representative of a blacklisted planet; she didn’t know anyone who’d spoken to him in years. Mara didn’t understand why he continued to make appearances at Court functions at all. 

The Court resumed its business, conversation audible once more, if a little more consciously bright and noisy to cover the fog of fear the Sith Lord left in his wake. 

“Lady Mara!” Lord Tuya swept up, folding his lanky body into an exaggerated bow, taking her hand between his green-tinged fingers and kissing it. Lord Tuya’s alien heritage was obvious enough that he would never climb as high in the Emperor’s Court as he clearly desired. “Will you be dancing for us tonight?” 

“Not at a _ Triumph, _ Lord Tuya.” She matched his flirtatious tone, feigning offense at the suggestion. She’d only fucked him once, and he seemed to think it gave him leave to speak to her at _ every _ court function. Another reason he would never rise above his station. 

“Later, then. At Baroness Messaline’s salon?” He blinked his inner eyelids salaciously. Messaline’s salons were little better than orgies for low-ranking courtiers; Mara never danced at salons, and he knew it. 

“Perhaps. One never knows where one might drift after a Triumph has concluded.” 

“Naturally. Have you spoken to Countess Nadia? She told me that you would be attending the Twilight Ceremony next week.” 

Of course she did. “Gossip. I only attend Twilight Ceremonies after Empire Day.” Mara extracted her hand with a smile. “Have you seen her tonight?” 

“I spoke to her by the portrait of the Emperor Resplendent.” Tuya was already scanning the crowd for his next mark. “She may still be there.” 

“Thank you, I’ll see you at the Midnight Rotunda—” 

She turned away from Lord Tuya and nearly walked right into Skywalker. 

Up close, she could see that the lapels of his jacket were embroidered with abstract sunburst motifs in fine gold thread. A gleaming, elegant lightsaber hung at his hip, a gift from the Emperor and another sign of his favor. Lightsabers were illegal—Mara had never even touched one—without special dispensation from the Emperor. 

“Lady Jade.” A perfunctory nod of his head, his disdain a sour note swirling around him. 

“Your Highness! Are you enjoying the festivities tonight?” 

As usual, her attempts to charm him were about as effective as paste paper plastered over spun glass. 

“Not really.” He always looked as though the Court was beneath his contempt, even though he’d spent most of his life on some backwater Mid Rim planet. He regarded her like she was a Hutt’s whore. 

She’d worked hard for her position. She’d spilled blood. He didn’t even seem to understand what he’d gained when he’d waltzed into the Court and been given the Emperor’s blessing without lifting a fucking finger. 

Just because he was Vader’s bastard son. 

“I personally don’t think a Triumph can compare with a Ceremony of Appointment, of course.” She tilted her head, smirking. “But I’ve heard you prefer the company of military men.” 

_ Pilotfucker. _ She watched for the slight flush and the sharp stab of anger that he didn’t bother to shield at the unspoken slur. So he _ had _ been frequenting the barracks. How tawdry, how _ tasteless_. Slumming with fighter pilots was an amusing distraction any courtier grew bored of after their third month at Court, and spending any time longer than that was subject to speculation, the slur whispered until it clung like stickpaper. 

“Those men have fought and _ died _ for our Empire. They’ve seen more than you can imagine, and they have more honor than most of the people here.” 

She laughed, a bright, tinkling sound; the trick was to make it sound cruel. “You’re defending cannon fodder?” 

A surge of emotion swirled around them, so vivid she could almost taste it. _ This _ was power, the ability to manipulate your mark’s temper to the potion of recklessness—power as potent as arousal. 

He shifted his jaw, something in his eyes darkening, anger thick around him. “I’m defending the men who put their lives on the line so that you can enjoy your luxuries.” 

“The Court decides who speaks to the Emperor, and who speaks to the Emperor decides the fate of the Empire. That’s power a pilot can’t even imagine.” 

He snorted. “The Court isn’t everything.” 

“Would you share that view with the Emperor?” 

He opened his mouth again and then clamped it shut. Even he wouldn’t speak treason against the Emperor, and he knew exactly what she was. A whisper in her Master’s ear was all it would take. 

She smirked. “How little you know of anything, Your Highness.” 

“Lady Jade.” A silver protocol droid shuffled up to her elbow, arm extended. “It is your turn to offer congratulations to the Grand Admiral.” 

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, catching the sweep of her dress up in her hand and stepping away. 

She’d barely taken three paces toward the front of the hall when she realized that Skywalker had fallen in step with her. 

“What are you doing?” She kept walking, addressing Skywalker under her breath without turning her head. 

“I want to speak with Thrawn as well.” 

“It’s _ my _ turn, not yours,” she hissed. “You can’t break protocol!”

“Why not?” 

“You can’t break the rules of Court!”

“Why not?” 

For a moment she calculated the amount of force it would take to smash his perfect nose; imagined the exquisite thrill of cartilage cracking under her fist. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Skywalker muttered. 

“Stay out of my head,” she snapped. 

And then they were both standing in front of the Grand Admiral. She dropped into a curtsy, dipping her body at precisely the right degree for his rank, no more, no less. He gave her a slight bow in return, as was proper, arm bent in front and behind his waist. The black polish on his nails gleamed as he moved his hands. 

He was tall, broad shoulders accentuated by a snow-white cape that brushed the floor; a wide belt with a buckle of finely wrought Ryloth silver enclosing a trim waist. At least he still had the basic build of a human male, even if his features were distorted by his alien heritage. Pryce hovered at his elbow, looking sour. 

“May I welcome you to Coruscant and offer my congratulations on your victories, Grand Admiral?” 

“Thank you, Lady Jade. Your congratulations are much appreciated.” 

Skywalker offered his congratulations as well, in the same rote script required at a Triumph. At least he’d learned _ something _ in his years at Court. She studied Thrawn as he spoke with Skywalker, answering the Prince’s questions about the campaign. The Admiral was hard to read, even with her abilities. She’d wondered before if there even was anything of substance underneath his smug condensation. Besides military tactics, _ apparently, _which were of little use to her or the Court. 

“Lady Jade, I regret that I wasn’t at Court when you were presented to the Empire or when you received your title,” he said. _ There _ were the courtly manners that Skywalker lacked. Thrawn’s Basic was pleasantly accented, if overly formal, but that formality suited the occasion. “I’m afraid I was in the field at the time.” 

“Lady Jade received her title during the Tatooine Campaign,” Pryce prompted. 

“Ah. If the Hutts had capitulated sooner, I might have made it back in time. Regrettable.” 

“I’m sure we’ll see more of you at Court in the future, Grand Admiral.” 

He included his head. “That is quite possible, Lady Jade, though unrest on the Rim keeps me busy, and… I confess that I still feel like a novice here. I don’t have your skill navigating the Court.” 

She appreciated the shallow compliment, though she wondered exactly what he’d heard of her _ skills. _

“At least you have the help of your assistant.” Mara flashed an insincere smile at Pryce. 

“I’m his Personal Attachée,” Pryce said. 

“Apologies, _Personal_ Attachée.” 

Pryce managed to control her expression, but even if the flush at her cheeks didn’t give her away, Mara could feel the sharp flash of her anger. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Skywalker shifting his jaw again, his head ducked and turned away from her. 

“Arihnda has been invaluable,” Thrawn said. _ Arihnda_. How sweet. “I hope we have another chance to discuss Court strategy soon, Lady Jade.” 

A dismissal. They exchanged the usual phrases of farewell, and she and Skywalker stepped aside to be replaced by a Mid Rim Moff. Before Skywalker could say another word, Mara cut across the hall toward Lady Tallian’s boisterous entourage. He’d never follow her there. 

She was flirting with a Baron from Chandrila when she felt a ripple run through the Throne Room. Mara knew the source even before her eyes were drawn inexorably toward the dais, like shrapnel toward a magnet. She could feel the surge of power crawling under her skin.

Rows of Crimson Guards marched out of the wings at the foot of the dais and up the steps in perfect time, forming a crescent behind the great throne hewed from black Nubian marble. Vader followed, flanked by Sate Pestage, each claiming their positions on either side of the great throne. 

Like an underwater organism, the assembled Court shifted and flowed around the hall to their designated positions. A series of half-circles formed at the base of the dais, like the rings of a shockwave radiating away from the throne. Mara’s title gave her a position in the innermost ring, closest to the steps that rose to the throne. 

Pestage struck his staff on the floor, triggering a sound effect like the peal of a bell that rang through the hall. “His Imperial Majesty!” 

It felt as though the entire room was leaning forward, rapt, as the Emperor emerged from the wings, following his slow ascent to his rightful place on the great black marble throne. 

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Palpatine, ruler of the Galactic Empire!” 

The Emperor’s deep yellow eyes swept over his Court before he spoke, his voice a harsh, commanding rasp. “Grand Admiral Thrawn. You may approach.” 

The Ovation had begun. 

The ritual was the same at every Triumph. The victor took his place on the dais, standing to the Emperor’s left, and presented his accomplishments to the Court, after which the Emperor lauded him for his victories and announced the titles and promotions he would receive for his service to the Empire. 

Pryce followed Thrawn up the stairs, carrying his effects and taking a position directly behind him. As he began his presentation, she passed him a small controller, which he used to activate a large-scale holo of the battle that stretched across the stage. 

Her attention drifted. She’d already read the reports on Thrawn’s victory and his presentation of the events was nothing new. The few military officers who stood in the inner ridge at the base of the dais appeared to be absorbed by Thrawn’s speech, though the attention of many of the courtiers was obviously feigned. Skywalker stood on the opposite side of the inner ring, his face turned attentively toward the presentation, as if he actually cared about the campaign. Maybe he’d fucked someone in Thrawn’s fleet. 

She didn’t fully register what was being said until the Emperor finished offering his congratulations and announced, “It is my intention to give Admiral Thrawn _ gifts _ fitting his rank at court.” 

Everyone at court knew what _ gifts _ meant. Some minor courtier, offered up as a reward for services to the Empire. Pleasure companion, servant, pet—once a gift was given, it was up to the discretion of their new owner to decide what their purpose was, though most gifts became pleasure companions. 

Her gaze drifted over to where Pryce stood behind Thrawn. While she’d had shown skill in working her way up the ranks and positioning herself as the Admiral’s attachée, she was an Outer Rim nobody and would never entirely fit in with the other courtiers. It made sense to offer Pryce to Thrawn as a pleasure companion. 

“Mara, my dear.” 

Her head snapped up, eyes darting up to her Emperor’s. He smiled, raising a finger to beckon her to his side. 

She stepped up the stage, dropping gracefully into a low bow until the Emperor reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. 

“Mara is one of the brightest stars in my court, and my best dancer. She is a jewel of the Imperial Court. And she is my gift to you.” 

The words hit Mara like a blow to the face. His intention had been obvious from the moment he’d spoken her name but she still hadn’t believed it until he’d said the words. She would not let the Court see her flinch, and with her back to the hall, they couldn’t read the shock on her face. 

The Emperor’s smile widened. He knew. She could never hide from him. Had she done something wrong? Was this a test? 

Thrawn’s face was expressionless, showing neither surprise nor pleasure at the Emperor’s words. Perhaps the Emperor was testing him, not her. There had been some speculation that the Emperor had lifted an alien so high just to see him fall; it had happened before. Mara could be the final piece set in place, the key to Thrawn’s undoing. She forced herself to relax. Her Master had a plan. He always did. 

“That is not all,” the Emperor continued. “Your maneuver in the Ojoster sector was impressive. Most impressive. It merits special… consideration. Another gift.” 

Pryce’s head shot up, and it felt like the entire Court held its breath. 

“Skywalker.” 

The name traveled through the room like the ripple of a shockwave, every eye drawn to the prince. He was visibly startled by the pronouncement, his eyes widening and jaw dropping for a moment before he pulled himself together. 

“Approach the throne.” 

Skywalker hesitated for a moment, as if he were _ considering _ the summons. Who did he think he _ was? _No one could refuse the Emperor. He was master of every being in this room, to do with as he pleased. 

Skywalker glanced up at Vader, reading something there in the blank mask before he stepped forward and slowly approached the dais, his footsteps loud in the hush that had fallen. 

“I gift you Prince Luke Skywalker of Naboo. He will serve you well.” 

Skywalker came to a stop beside her, his face expressionless. His shields were so tight she could barely sense his presence at all. 

“A handsome set, are they not?” 

“Your Majesty is far more generous than your humble servant deserves,” Thrawn said. 

“I am. But I think you will enjoy your gifts. And that your further service will continue to please me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Mara didn’t think much of the Imperial Navy’s concept of “luxury.” She left her travel cases on the floor in the laughably small parlor and stalked through the suite. The closet room alone was a fraction of the space in her apartment on Coruscant, and the fresher didn’t even have a sauna. When she’d traveled on missions from Coruscant, she was usually assigned a diplomat’s yacht, and on occasions she was assigned to smaller ships for more discreet missions she could tolerate a little inconvenience. Not on a vessel she was meant to live on for the next—however long this farce was meant to last. 

There was no sign that these quarters had ever been used before by a mistress or pleasure companion, though that was clearly their purpose. 

She tapped impatiently at a door panel and jumped as the door slid back to reveal Skywalker standing on the other side. 

“Jade,” he said brusquely. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“—our suites are connected. Of course they are.” 

“I think Thrawn’s suite is on the other side of mine, but the door’s sealed.” 

That wasn’t an accident. Perhaps he understood the rules of the game better than he let on. 

Skywalker had his head tilted as he examined the panel. “I might be able to break the lock and rig us up a set of codes, but if he has a slicer monitoring the locks, it won’t last long.” 

“I can do that myself,” she said. 

He looked at her, eyes going wide for a second. “You know how to slice a military-grade lock.” 

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “He’ll be monitoring the spycams, too.”

“Spycams?” 

She gave him a withering glance. Really? Did they not have  _ any _ surveillance on Naboo? 

She caught hold of the back of a chair and dragged it over to a corner of the room. Kicking off her short heeled boots, she stepped up onto the chair and reached up to a vent near the ceiling. A corner of the panel next to the vent gave way with a flick of a fingernail, revealing the tiny lens of a camera nestled inside. 

“It’s not activated,” he said, puzzled. 

That was odd. She hopped off the chair and headed to the bedroom. The spycams in her bedroom and fresher weren’t activated either, though the one that monitored the door that led out of the suite was recording. None of this made sense. Skywalker had followed her around the suite, offering inane commentary on how the mechanics of a spy cam worked that she ignored. Now he stood watching her glare up at the sightless eye of the spycam in the corner of the room. 

“We’re meant to be pleasure slaves, aren’t we?” 

“The polite term is pleasure companions,” she corrected him, eyes narrowing. She didn’t expect him to understand the intricacies of Court culture, but all that wide-eyed innocence had to be an act. What had the Emperor been  _ thinking,  _ giving away a prince who barely understood the role he was meant to play? 

His licked his lips. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” 

“Thrawn can make use of us however he wants, but he already has servants or droids for anything he needs. Personal pleasure companions are a mark of status. Gifting two pleasure companions is the highest mark of the Emperor’s esteem.“

It could also be used as a punishment, to strip rank from a courtier who had displeased him and turn them into the private plaything of another member of the court. 

But she hadn’t done anything  _ wrong. _

“I don’t think he gave me away to reward Thrawn,” Skywalker said. “Not really.” 

“What do you mean?” 

His eyes were a deceptively clear, guileless blue, like an empty pool of water. “I think he did this to get at my father, sending me away to punish him—and maybe my mother too.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It didn’t have anything to do with me.” 

That made a sort of sense. It wasn’t the first time the Emperor had publicly humiliated Vader, in the twisted game of power they played, and giving his only son away was a slap in the face. 

It still didn’t explain why she had been exiled in the same manner. 

“Have you ever been given away before?” 

She looked back at the wall again. “I’ve never been formally gifted before, no.” 

There was something in the way he asked the question that didn’t sit right. 

Informally, her Master had given her nights away to certain high ranking officials. Many of them were dead now. 

“But you don’t like doing,” he stumbled mid-sentence as he considered how to phrase his statement. “—pleasure work.” 

What did her preferences have to do with anything? The bedroom arts were a means to an end, and could be enjoyable or tedious depending on the players, and she said as much. Skywalker was quiet for a moment, but she wasn’t lucky enough for it to last. 

“My father says that you grew up in the Imperial Court.” 

“Yes,” she said shortly, dragging the chair back to its place in the small conversation corner meant for entertaining guests. 

“But not with your family?” 

“My birth family’s identity was classified to protect them.” 

He didn’t need to know that she had never seen the file on her birth parents, never even knew their names, whoever they had been. It wasn’t relevant.

“I had the best caretakers and tutors on Coruscant, and I received the finest education in the galaxy.” She lifted her chin, though the height difference between them didn’t allow her to look down at him. He wasn’t tall, and if she wore a pair of Ankai heels they would probably be the same height. 

He had his head tilted, looking at her as though she were a lock he was trying to decode. 

She crossed her arms. “Are you planning on moving in? I think you need our keeper’s permission for that.” 

He blinked at her, then glanced back at the door between their suites. “Uh. Sorry. I’ll—I’m right on the other side of the door, if you need me.” 

“Whatever.” She was already turning away. 

He left, the door sliding shut behind him. 

Without the fleet of servants and droids she had at her disposal on Coruscant, she would have to unpack her suitcases herself; the ensign who had escorted her to her quarters had made that clear. What she’d packed was only a fraction of the wardrobe and necessities from her apartment on Coruscant, but it would still take her hours to unpack and rehang it all. 

She’d dawdled over her preparations before she closed up her apartment on Coruscant, waiting for the summons that she was sure that the Emperor would send. She had expected to be called to her Master’s side to be given orders before she left, but he hadn’t even sent a message. 

Hundreds of courtiers before her had been tossed aside at the Emperor’s whim, with no more explanation. 

No. This was temporary. She’d offer her services to Thrawn, and feed information to the Emperor, and soon the alien would disgrace himself enough to lose his Imperial privileges and she could go home again. She’d fought her way up the court hierarchy before, she could do it again. As many times as she needed. 

One more, she stalked through the suite like a rancor pacing a circus ring. 

“Fuck,” she spat. 

\--

A week passed. Mara had limited access to the ship—she could visit the gym, which she did daily, the officer’s mess and lounge, and a small private observation deck at the top of the ship with a view of the vast nothing before them. There was usually an ensign hovering nearby to escort her or remind her that most of the ship was restricted to her. The problem was that wherever she went, Skywalker was there, too. Drinking caf in the officer’s mess, working out in the gym, stalking the along the observation deck exuding the same caged nexu feeling that was rattling under her skin. 

She spent most days in her room reading dispatches from Coruscant—both the public news sources and reports from her own informants—practicing dance steps, eating tedious meals alone, and, when she had exhausted all other diversions, masturbating. She was eventually reduced to watching mindless Wynessa Starflare holothrillers. 

She had nothing to report back to her master except that Thrawn ran an efficient ship and that his crew was frustratingly loyal. None of the officers on the Chimaera would speak to her, and the ship had made a scheduled trip to the Bilbringi shipyards and to pick up supplies on Eriadu. 

Perfectly routine. 

She read all the files she could access on Thrawn, and then read them again. If she had been on Coruscant, she would make inquiries and consult her sources for any intelligence that was left out of official reports, but on the Chimaera she couldn’t even check her messages without him knowing about it. The rumors that she’d heard before leaving Coruscant were either obviously false or uninteresting, and what she knew about the man himself didn’t add up to much. 

Although his trajectory though the military had been slow at first, it was unmarred by scandal, and over the last decade he’d risen through the ranks with flying colors. He hadn’t been involved with Project Stardust, and thus avoided Krennic’s fate. Tarkin had managed to rise above that particular disaster, but Thrawn wasn’t Tarkin either. His people were loyal and discreet, and by all accounts, performed admirably. 

She spent days sifting through hours of footage collected over the course of his career and stored in the ISB files. In interviews and public appearances she saw the same cold, impassive man she’d met at every Court function. It took time for her to see the subtle difference in the endless military debriefing holos, to read pride in the tilt of his head and timbre of his voice as he laid out a tactical plan, and passion in his assessment of the aftermath. 

There was something objectively attractive about his high cheekbones and the arrogant curve of his mouth. His eyes, flattened and dull in the projected image, were less striking in the holos than in person. She let his presentation on a campaign in the Quelii sector loop twice. 

She played the loop again after she’d finished her research for the day; let his voice follow her through her evening routine. He had a deep, rich voice, and she let the sound roll over her, the stream of military jargon having long since lost all meaning. 

By the end of the week, she stopped sending reports to Coruscant. There was nothing to say. 

She was starting to consider fucking Skywalker, just out of sheer boredom. They both haunted the officer’s gyms whenever the officers were on duty and the space was nearly empty, though they never said more than a handful of words to each other, if they spoke at all. 

As she moved through her stretches, she watched his workout in the mirror that stretched along one wall or out of the corner of her eye. He used a long, thin rod instead of a live lightsaber as he worked through a series of combat forms. Now that the Jedi were extinct, lightsaber duels were an archaic art form, not to mention illegal. It was hard to imagine him holding his own against Vader’s might, but there was no one else in the Empire who was allowed to study the steps he practiced, over and over, every day. 

She liked the way he moved. There was a lithe grace to his body, subtle muscle rippling along his arms and back as he thrust and parried. He lost himself in the movement, his eyes distant as he flowed from one form to the next. 

Mara had been thoroughly trained in several defensive hand-to-hand forms and she could appreciate the skill and power in every controlled movement. He would make a good sparring partner, if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He must have known she was watching him, but he ignored her. She caught him watching her only once, as she lifted her body out of a low bend. He looked away quickly, making wide swipes at the air with his makeshift weapon. 

She wasn’t sure if screwing her fellow pleasure companion on their own time was against the rules—because their keeper hadn’t  _ given _ them any rules. Thrawn hadn’t even bothered to speak to them since he’d installed them in adjoining suites, and they weren’t permitted to enter his suite or any of the offices or war rooms where he worked during the day. 

The idle hours left too much time for thinking; replaying the last few months in her head, trying to figure out what she might have done to earn banishment from Coruscant. She clung to the hope that her Master had put her in place to play out her part in a great scheme that was still unfolding. 

The Emperor’s silence suggested otherwise. 

\--

When she grew sick of staring at the blank grey durasteel walls of her rooms, she asked for an escort to take her up to the single observation deck that wasn’t restricted. The ensign stood outside in the hall, waiting on her, and Mara was inclined to make him wait as long as she could stand the silence of the empty deck. She folded herself into one of the chairs magna-clamped to the deck, her feet propped up on the edge of the seat, idly picking at the edge of the upholstery.

She still hadn’t received any messages from her Master. 

Her last mission had gone so smoothly as to have been unremarkable. Some Mid Rim Moff had stepped out of line, and Mara had been sent to deliver his resignation letter and slip poison into his wine. Her Master had praised her perforce and she’d sensed no displeasure from him. He hadn’t mentioned any recent failures. All the intel she’d passed on in the last six months had been sound, she was sure of it. She dug her nails deeper into the seat. 

The image of Countess Valeria’s face as Mara slipped from her bed only a few months ago rose in her mind’s eye. 

“I bedded the last Hand too, you know. She didn’t last three years.” 

Mara paused, silk robe half-tied. “Do you know what happened to her?” 

Valeria laughed, stretching thin arms over her head. “I don’t remember, darling.” 

Mara remembered her. Shira Brie. Dead. Forgotten. She had only been a few years older than Mara, and Mara had been viciously jealous when Brie had been given the title she now held. The details surrounding her death were classified, as was the reason for her termination. There were many ways for her Master to dispose of a Hand he no longer deemed worthy. 

“Are you still here?” Valeria said, reaching for a deathstick on the bedside table. 

It had been an otherwise unmemorable assignation, and Valeria’s pillow talk hadn’t been worth much in the end. 

Mara regretted asking about Brie. Brie had been weak. She couldn’t let herself fall from the Emperor’s grace as Brie had, and even suggesting an association between them was dangerous. She should have been more careful. He wouldn’t have sent her away if he still wanted her close, feeding him the Court’s secrets and helping to eliminate any rot at the heart of the Empire.

Or else this was all a joke at her expense. Was that all she was good for now? A  _ joke?  _

Behind her the door hissed open, the soft sound nearly inaudible under the hum of the ship and the quiet drone of the air circulation system, though the light from the hallway spilled into the room for a moment before the door closed again. It was Skywalker. 

Until a week ago, she’d never noticed how distinct his presence in the Force was, but now she could pick him out of a crowd, or sense him throughout the ship, his aura as distinctive as the scent of fijisi wood. She kept her eyes on the starlines as he strolled across the deck and leaned over the back of the chair next to her, his arms propped up on the backrest. 

“It’s a beautiful view,” he said, low, as though they were speaking in confidence. 

She felt her mouth twist. “Small talk, Skywalker?” 

He shrugged, smiling a little, as though her barb was amusing. Neither of them spoke for a few long minutes. The corner of her seat started to fray and she tore at the loose seam. 

A dark thought threaded its way into her mind. “Has he—” Their rooms were connected. She would know if Skywalker had already started servicing their keeper, wouldn’t she? “Has he contacted you yet?” 

“No.” 

It wasn’t a lie. She felt the tension in her shoulders loosen a fraction. 

“Is he toying with us?” 

“A little, I think. I think he likes testing his people. But he’s also busy, and the ship’s on a tight schedule. I don’t think we’re high on his list of priorities,” he concluded wryly. 

“How do you know all this?” 

“I finally managed to convince one of the officers to talk to me. He said that Thrawn’s never had pleasure slaves or companions on his ship before, and the officers don’t know what to make of us.” 

“Never?” He’d held rank in the Emperor’s Navy for  _ decades _ . “That can’t be right.” 

She knew he attended salons and frequented officer’s clubs on Coruscant, not to mention that an Admiral had the right to demand anything of anyone under his command, and they often did.

Skywalker shrugged. “That’s what he told me. I don’t think Thrawn’s  _ uninterested, _ I think...I think he’s very  _ careful.”  _

“But the Emperor  _ gave _ us to him. The  _ Emperor.  _ What is he waiting for?” 

Skywalker shook his head, his face mottled with silver star lines. “I don’t know.” 

\- -

Another week passed. 

She was starting to wonder if Thrawn had any intention of ever making use of them at all when the summons came. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Before leaving Coruscant, Mara had packed gowns for intimate dinners and diplomatic functions, jewelry and shoes to match each outfit, and—perhaps most essentially—lingerie that might arouse her new master. She wasn’t sentimental about her wardrobe; it was just another tool she could use to entice or provoke. She did miss the ritual visits to Courscant’s finest tailors and ateliers in order to craft an ensemble specific to the tastes of her mark—whatever those tastes might be. 

For her first night with Thrawn, Mara choose a dress of Chandrillian silk dyed Imperial Red—a complicated gown with a bodice of overlapping straps that revealed slivers of skin across her torso and tantalizing hints of the lingerie underneath. It difficult to put on and remove, but Thrawn struck her as someone who enjoyed a challenge. 

In her experience, military officers knew little of bedroom arts; they could be enthusiastic, or overbearing, or violent, but they lacked the finer skills that were studied by courtiers. She was confident she could satisfy him; prove she had value that he could no longer ignore. 

She had no idea where Skywalker’s skills or tastes fell. He’d been in the court for long enough to pick up  _ something _ , surely. He was waiting for her when she emerged from her suite, wearing a fine linen shirt dyed a deep blue that reflected the color of his eyes, black trousers, and a black jacket. His eyes widened slightly as he took her in, but he didn’t allow even a hint of surprise slip past his shields. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready for this, Skywalker?” 

“I think so.” He licked his lower lip, running a hand over his lapels. “Are you?” 

“Of course I am.” As ready as she could be, walking blindly into the bedroom of a man it was her duty to please. She wished, again, that she has some idea of what he wanted—that he had provided that information ahead of time like a  _ civilized _ being—but she could improvise. 

The same sour-looking ensign who usually tailed them around the ship was their escort on the short walk down the hall to Thrawn’s quarters, right on the other side of Luke’s suite. He pressed the button for the suite’s door chime, gave them both a look that matched the distaste he was projecting, and left them to enter Thrawn’s suite alone. 

She nearly stopped in her tracks at the threshold to the suite, as the scent of fijisi wood wafted out and wrapped around her. The same scent that saturated every luxury apartment in the Imperial Palace. Her apartment.  _ Home.  _

Skywalker caught hold of her elbow, and a pressure like an invisible hand at her back propelled her forward, smoothly covering her stumble. He dropped her elbow as shifted away as soon as she recovered. He didn’t look at her the entire time, his face impassive. 

The walls and floor of the reception room were covered in fragrant fijisi hardwood paneling stained a dark burgundy. A wide display case dominated one of the walls, showcasing a set of decorative Mandalorian pikes. An elegantly curved couch and a low table sat in the center of the room, the table carved from distinctive swirled halla wood from Kashyyyk, rich amber in color. The lights were low, and she felt the bare skin of her arms react to the temperature Thrawn had set, several degrees lower than her own suite. 

Would Thrawn fuck her or Skywalker on that couch? 

The Grand Admiral stood in front of the viewport that covered the far wall, stars glittering through the void behind him. To his right was a halla wood sideboard, to his left three lushly padded chairs arranged in a conversation circle. She had half-expected the sideboard to be laid out with vials of aphrodisiacs or spice, but there was only a single bottle of wine and three glasses. Two of the chairs stood next to each other, facing a third, which was placed with the window at its back. Thrawn’s chair, she thought. 

“Welcome. If you please?” Thrawn gestured to the conversation circle. 

He wore a simple black uniform instead of his Grand Admiral whites, without rank plaque or  epaulettes . The outer belt was missing, giving the jacket a loose, casual look. As they crossed the room he stripped off his gloves, tossing them onto the sideboard before pouring the wine. 

“Lady Jade,” he gave the greeting with an incline of his head as he extended the glass toward her. The formality of the title felt extravagant, but she didn’t miss the heat of his eyes over her body. That put one fear to rest, at least; he had the same appetites as human men. 

“My Lord,” she responded. 

“Prince Skywalker.” He passed Skywalker a glass. 

“Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Skywalker responded. 

It surprised Thrawn as much as it had surprised her. “Your pronunciation is very good,” he said. 

“I had some help from one of your officers—a Commander Vanto.” 

“Ah.” He didn’t seem displeased that Skywalker had befriended his officers, though he hadn’t given them permission to do so. “Please. Take a seat.” 

He sat in the chair against the window, as she’d suspected, and Luke took the far seat across from Thrawn, leaving the other chair for her. She breathed deeply as she leaned back in her seat, savoring the comforting scent of the wood paneling. 

Thrawn raised his glass. “An Alderaanian vintage, from the Mercera highlands.”

“Not from your home planet?” Mara asked. The wine was good. Whoever had chosen it for him had a discerning palate. 

“No. Csilla produces many fine spirits, but lacks wine of any quality.” He raised the glass to admire the deep ruby color, almost black in the dim light, appreciation apparent on his face. 

“What made you leave your homeland?” Skywalker asked. 

“Ambition,” Thrawn replied, letting the single word sit in the room without elaboration. 

Her skin prickled as he looked Skywalker over with the same open appreciation that she’d seen in his eyes when he’d offered her the wine. 

“Was that your reason as well?” Thawn asked. 

Skywalker looked down. There was a light flush to his cheeks. “No,” he admitted softly. “I  _ would _ like to see the galaxy taken care of when the Emperor dies, but I...never intended for my father to put me on the throne.” 

“Then why?” Mara asked.  Why would anyone come to Court and  _ not _ seize every opportunity offered to rise through the ranks ? 

Skywalker shot a glance in her direction and hesitated. 

“You may speak candidly here,” Thrawn said. No one who ever asked for honesty actually wanted it. 

“I wanted to get to know my father.” Skywalker gave a half shrug, a humorless smile crossing his face. “I needed some time away from my mother, too, I guess. And my sister.” 

“Anything you wish to tell me in confidence will not leave this room,” Thrawn said. “There are no surveillance devices in my quarters. I have the rooms swept daily and I have a  _ very _ thorough team. The surveillance in your rooms is limited to the spycams you’ve already spotted.” 

She had no doubt that was a lie, though it didn’t  _ feel _ the way a lie usually felt. There had to be something unique about his species that made his mind so opaque. 

That was…troubling. 

“For the moment,” he concluded, the implicit threat delivered with a hint of wry amusement. 

“Thank you,” Skywalker said sincerely, ignoring the subtext behind Thrawn’s words. “We appreciate you giving us our privacy. Although I’d like to take a look at your flight deck, if you’ll let me.” 

“In time.” 

Skywalker leaned forward, glass cupped between his hands. “I’m interested in how you’re developing the TIE program. There were rumors on Coruscant that you’re developing a new line—” 

“Skywalker,” she said softly. He turned his head and frowned at her, annoyance radiating off of him. “That’s not why we’re here.” 

She returned her gaze to Thrawn, waiting for his cue—for whatever he wanted of them. Skywalker remained blessedly silent, for once. 

Thrawn was silent as well, his face expressionless. The pause spooled out, longer than was comfortable, as they waited for Thrawn to speak. 

Mara felt her brow furrow as she stared at him, her composure slipping. The pointed formalities, the small talk, the wine—it was all unnecessary. They were his pleasure slaves, not his  _ guests. _ For the last two weeks, he had acted insultingly disinterested in either of them, when he could have them any way he wanted, and he  _ should _ have taken them straight to his bed. 

Instead, he took another sip of his wine. Her stomach tightened as he lowered the glass and focused his gaze on her. Out of the corner of her eye, Skywalker had gone still, the lines of his body as tense as her own. Thrawn’s eyes narrowed, fingers tapping on the side of his glass. He still hadn’t said anything. 

It struck her suddenly.  _ He doesn’t know what to do with us. _ He was a soldier, not a courtier. She put down her glass and straightened in her chair. 

“What do you enjoy, my lord?” she said, letting her voice drop into a husky timbre. 

The corners of Thrawn’s mouth curved up. “Compliance.” 

Her mouth went dry, her eyes riveted on him. She had to swallow before she spoke again. 

“We are yours to command, my lord.” The words tumbled out, rough and low. 

The corners of his mouth curled up. “Indeed.” Placing his glass on a side table, he stood. 

“Lady Jade.” His voice was low and deep, a note of possession threading through the words. 

She rose to her feet as though he’d pulled her up by a string. There was another pause, though this time his hesitation felt calculated; as though he were plotting the next move on a dejarik table. Standing close, she could feel his arousal seeping through his natural reticence like the heat of a banked fire. 

“On your knees.” 

Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees. Before she could reach for his trousers, his hand settled on her head. 

“Be still.” 

Mara turned to stone. A long blue finger traced along her exposed shoulder and up the side of her neck. She tilted her head, leaning into the touch, trying to control the shivers his finger was sending through her body. 

When he reached her ear, he turned his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles against her jaw in a brief caress, and then his fingers slid into her hair. He worked loose the zenji needle that held up the twist at the back of her head and tossed it aside. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. 

Thrawn placed two fingers under her chin, lifting her face until her eyes met his. “Very good,” he said softly, the warmth of his words washing through her. 

Dropping his hand, he stepped back and walked in a slow circle around her, as though she were a subordinate he was inspecting. She kept her eyes on the carpet in front of her, head angled down. 

Another light touch on the top of her head, along with gentle, murmured words of praise, and he turned away. Mara watched his shining boots clear the few short steps to the other chair, where Skywalker sat, watching the entire performance in front of him, eyes glazed over, jaw slack. 

She should keep her eyes down, like a good little servant, but she couldn’t help but raise her head to watch Skywalker tighten his jaw and rise to his feet to stand in front of their keeper. Thrawn had the advantage of height, and Skywalker had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye, an odd expression on his face that she couldn’t quite decipher. She couldn’t see Thrawn’s face at all. Neither spoke for a long moment. Whatever Skywalker read in Thrawn’s features, it reassured him, and she saw the subtle lines of tension in his body relaxing. 

A coy smile flitted across Skywalker’s face. “Sir?” he said softly. 

Thrawn lifted Skywalker’s face in the same way he had hers, long fingers underneath Skywalker’s chin, and dragged a thumb slowly over the other man’s bottom lip. She saw Skywalker’s eyes unfocus, a small gasp escaping him. Then he ducked his head with an almost impudent gesture and drew Thrawn’s finger into his mouth, his eyes flicking up to Thrawn’s as he sucked. 

Mara’s clit throbbed. She fisted her hands in her dress, aching to be touched. 

Thrawn made an approving sound and withdrew his hand before stepping closer, leaning in to whisper in Skywalker’s ear. She couldn’t hear what was being said, only the soft timbre of his voice rising and falling. Skywalker’s eyes fluttered shut, a moan slipping out of his mouth. 

They were angled so that she could see Thrawn place his hands possessively on either side of Skywalker’s waist, pausing for a moment before they moved to the clasp of Luke’s trousers.

Thrawn wanted her to watch. 

Skywalker moaned again as Thrawn took hold of him. The whispered monologue stopped as Thrawn leaned back again, watching Skywalker’s face as he touched him. She could see the knuckles of Skywalker’s clenched fists going white, his hips jerking into Thrawn’s touch. 

He breathed a wordless protest as Thrawn released him, drawing his hand out of Skywalker’s pants and stepping back. Skywalker’s hands spasmed at his side, as though he wanted to pull Thrawn into an embrace, but remembered his place at the last moment. 

Thrawn circled the other man as he’d circled her, pausing to stand behind Skywalker. He looked at her over Skywalker’s shoulder, and heat rushed through her as his molten eyes bored into her. Without breaking his gaze, he leaned down to speak into Skywalker’s ear again, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. 

“She looks lovely on her knees, doesn’t she?” 

Skywalker nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Make her come.” 

Skywalker shuddered, his eyes leaping to her face. “Yes, sir.” 

Thrawn turned away and walked back over to his chair. They both stared dumbly at him as he picked up his glass and dropped back into his seat. One hand draped across the armrest, the other raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip as he considered them. 

“You may begin.” 

Skywalker snapped out of his daze and turned toward her. She’d never fucked another Force user before, and now that he’d let down his sheilds, his arousal swirled around them in a heady haze that made her suck in a sharp breath. 

“Mara.” His voice was soft and warm as he took her hand and drew her to her feet again. He bent his head to catch her eye, a question in his expression, as though he sought permission to touch her, no matter what their keeper had instructed. 

“Get on with it, Skywalker,” she mouthed. She’d waited long enough. 

He pressed his hands on either side of her waist, like Thrawn had done to him, thumbs lightly stroking the fabric. Tamping down a flash of irritation, she shifted to the side, forcing him to rotate so that his back wasn’t blocking Thrawn’s view. This was a  _ performance, _ no different than dancing for the Court, and it helped if the audience could  _ see _ the dance. 

“Remove her dress,” Thrawn ordered from his chair. 

One hand drifted around to her back, searching for a clasp, and finding none. She let him fumble. After searching the back of her gown and failing to find an opening, his fingers quested along her side, searching fruitlessly for a zipper. She felt his frustration rising and struggled to keep a smug expression off her face. 

Thrawn made a sound, no more than the soft  _ tsk _ of his lips parting, and Mara ducked her head, chastened. She caught Skywalker’s hand and guided it to clasp at her shoulder. Once the shoulder strap was removed, it exposed a fastener at her waist on the opposite side of her body; each strip of fabric removed revealed a series of hidden clasps. Skywalker slowly unwrapped the layers of red fabric, letting them fall until the dress slid down her hips and pooled around her feet. 

Her complexion was far fairer than his, and she’d chosen the black lingerie knowing that it would contrast dramatically with her skin. It was effective. Skywalker let a finger run almost reverently along the lace that looped in a swirling pattern along the swell of her breast. 

“Better,” Thrawn said, and her cheeks went warm with his approval. 

Skywalker helped her shimmy the bottom half of the lingerie set to her feet, but he left the strapless slip of lace at her breasts. She assumed he would leave the heels on, but he sunk to his knees and wrapped a hand around her calf, lifting up her right leg. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder first, and then, as he eased off the shoe, she let her hand wander up into his hair, soft and thick under her fingers. Darker than it had been when he’d first come to Court. He hummed contentedly she dug her fingers in, a smile touching his mouth. Something strange threaded through his sense that she couldn’t place. 

Placing the shoe to the side, he brushed a kiss against her ankle, and repeated the process with her other foot until she stood, nearly nude, her feet bare on the carpet. 

She felt unexpectedly unbalanced. Exposed. 

She wished he’d kept the shoes on. 

He looked up through his eyelashes as she tightened her grip on his hair, blue eyes wide, pupils blown. She looked away, her gaze darting across the carpet before being drawn inevitably to Thrawn’s face, to his heated stare, settling on the approving curve of his lips as swept his eyes over her body. The tightness in her chest eased, and she uncurled her fingers and let her hand drop. 

Skywalker rose to his feet. He said her name, gently, as he took her hand in an odd, courtly gesture, and guided her over to the chair he’d vacated. Skywalker sat, sliding back into his seat and pulling her down onto his lap. She sat almost primly, knees together, in spite of her nudity. Her hands rested lightly on the arms of the chair. 

As Thrawn watched, sipping his wine, Skywalker slowly peeled away the last scrap of lingerie. She took a deep breath, letting her now-bare breasts rise and fall. 

“Relax,” Skywalker murmured from behind her, kissing her shoulder. His hands splayed across her ribcage, drifting up to cup her breasts, thumb teasing nipples already taut with arousal. 

She bit her lip to keep from snapping back. This wasn’t the first time she’d been fucked for the benefit of a voyeur. She’d lost count of the number of people who had stripped her bare and screwed her in situations and positions far more risqué than Skywalker could even dream. 

This wasn’t like any of the other times. 

Thrawn’s eyes bored into her, as though he could see past every mask she’d ever worn. It took her a moment to recognize the expression on his face. During her research she’d found a holo of a minor Ovation in which Thrawn had commended his crew for their performance at the siege of Concord Dawn. Something about the way Thrawn had spoken about his crew had unsettled her and she could only watch it once, though it had lodged in her head for days. He had the same expression now; satisfaction in the tilt of his mouth, his gaze completely focused on what was in front of him, which pleased him because it was his own. 

No one at Court had ever looked at her like that before. She would be worthy of that approval—would be the perfect pleasure companion—compliant. Indisposable. 

At an almost imperceptible incline of Thrawn’s head, Skywalker’s hand skated down, fingers playing with her hip bone, and then along her thigh, lingering, drawing circles on the sensitive skin. He began to leave a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, and the two sensations pulled at her core. She moaned, letting her eyes close and her head drop back against Skywalker’s shoulder. 

“No.” 

Luke’s hand froze and Mara’s head snapped back up again at Thrawn’s voice. 

“You will keep your eyes on me.” 

“Ye—es,” she stuttered. “Yes, My Lord.” 

“Good. Go on,” Thrawn ordered Skywalker. “Take your time.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Skywalker drew her knees apart—opening her to Thrawn’s gaze, showing him exactly how aroused she was. Every whisper of his fingers across her skin sent sparks of pleasure to her cunt. One hand returned to teasing her breasts, teasing the rough knot of a nipple, the other continued to trace loops over the skin of her inner thighs. 

Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. 

She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him to hurry up and thought she saw approval in Thrawn’s face. Better. She would be better. 

After taking another circuitous path over her thighs, Skywalker’s fingers finally—finally—brushed up against her cunt.  _ Yes. There, yes. _ Fingertips dragged through her folds, teasing and soothing swollen flesh. She was sopping wet; shivering threads of sensation spiked though her at every touch. 

His eyes still on her, Thrawn set aside his glass, loosened his collar, and opened his jacket. He had dark streaks on either side of his neck, a blue so deep they were nearly purple, reaching from his jaw down to the dip in his collarbones. Like the flush, she realized, that splashed across her own neck and chest. Under the jacket he wore a plain grey undershirt that clung to his torso. His eyes had shifted to a darker shade of red as well, from carmine to maroon, though the black well of his irises didn’t appear to dilate the way a human’s eyes would. 

The whimper that escaped her as Skywalker sank his fingers into her center surprised her, her eyes slamming shut before she remembered Thrawn’s command and forced them open again. She saw Thawn’s hand move, but couldn’t process the signal he made until Skywalker stopped. Again. Fingers pressed deep inside her, thumb unmoving on her clit. 

_ “No.” _ The protest broke out of her before she could stop it. 

Thrawn only looked amused. So that was the game he intended to play: dictating precisely the limits of her pleasure and when she would reach be allowed to reach her climax. 

She’d played those sorts of games before—but she’d never spiraled so quickly or felt so overwhelmed by the arousal that surged out of her partners, raw and possessive. There had always been a part of her mind that that had remained focused on the performance, how to best display herself to enthrall her targets. 

She wasn’t performing now. 

“Sir?” Skywalker asked. She could hear the answering smile in his voice. 

“Mm—Mithra—” she stuttered over the unfamiliar name. 

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Skywalker purred, his mouth rolling over the syllables. 

“Please,” Mara begged, giving up on Thrawn’s name.

Thrawn had one hand at the bulge in his pants, cupping himself, and the other reached out to lift his glass and take another sip of his wine as he considered. After a few torturous moments he nodded imperiously, and Skywalker’s fingers began to move again. 

“Thank you,” she whispered roughly—her words meant for both of them. 

Skywalker kissed behind her ear and then ran his tongue along the shell, wringing a cry out of her. His fingers curled inside of her, hitting that perfect, blissful spot that made her quiver and curse. Skywalker worked her up to her earlier frenzy—shaking and whimpering in his arms—until Thrawn called a stop again, and her climax—nearly in her grasp—slid away. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck.” _ It came out in an undignified whine. Mara was past caring. Snarling and squirming in his arms, her hand darted down to dig her nails into Skywalker’s wrist. He just chuckled. She shifted her hips, trying to rock into his hand, but his arm snaked around her waist and held her still. 

Her breath came shallow, heart hammering in her chest as she struggled to keep her focus on Thrawn. He raised an eyebrow and she didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“Continue.” 

Instantly, Skywalker’s fingers resumed their insistent dance against her clit. It didn’t take long. 

“She’s...very close,” Skywalker said. His teeth scraped along her shoulder and she shuddered. 

“Mara.” Thrawn’s command reverberated through her. “Come.” 

Skywalker bit down on her shoulder as a burst of white-hot pleasure coursed through her. She was shaking apart, convulsing in Skywalker’s arms, her hips jerking wildly into his hand, a strangled cry breaking the quiet of the room. She collapsed back against him, shaking as aftershocks jolted through her. 

Skywalker stroked her hair, his fingers tangling in the damp roots at her forehead. “You did so well, Mara,” he murmured in her ear, kissing her temple. “So good.” 

_ Good.  _ She did good. He was pleased with her. 

She could feel the intoxicating fever pitch of Skywalker’s arousal—as well as his cock, stiff and eager, pressing against her back. Without even thinking, she slithered out of his lap and onto the floor, twisting around, her hands scrambling for the opening of his pants. 

“Oh—you—ohhh,” was all he managed before she took him into her mouth and any words he attempted sputtered off into a series of unintelligible sounds. Her cunt clenched at the hot weight of him on her tongue.

“Mara,” he gasped, hands clamping onto her shoulders, thumbs digging into her skin as she flicked the tip of her tongue along the velvety underside of his cock. One of her hands wrapped around the root of his length, the other at his thigh, lean muscles tensing under her fingers. 

She drew back to suck delicately at the tip and then took him deep, drawing a shout out of him; the hands at her shoulders tightened as she sucked him harder, deeper. She felt another hand on her head, long fingers stroking her hair, gentle as she bobbed up and down. 

“Stop,” Thrawn said. Once again, she went perfectly still, her mouth still wrapped around Skywalker, her whole body thrumming as she waited for his next order. 

“Enough.” 

She pulled her mouth off of Skywalker’s cock, looking up as she did so to see his face flushed and twisted, his breath heavy and erratic. 

Thrawn’s hands were at her waist and under her right arm, coaxing her to her feet. He’d removed his jacket and his arms were bare. There were dark flushed streaks down the inside of his forearm; deep purple wells in the bends of his elbows. Strong, toned arms, with well-defined muscle that shifted under dark blue skin as he wrapped them around her. 

He pulled her back against his broad chest, still facing Skywalker, who looked up with a pleading expression. Skywalker’s chest was heaving, his eyes glazed over. His mouth worked, as though he were trying to say something, but had been struck dumb. 

“You did very well,” Thrawn said, pressing his mouth to her neck. “Look how close he is.” 

Mara could only nod. She wanted to climb onto Skywalker’s lap and ride him until he came—she wanted Thrawn to fuck her into the floor—she  _ wanted.  _

A hand caressed her sternum, fingers drifting up her neck, lifting and tilting her face to meet his lips. She matched him eagerly, learning the feel of his mouth against hers. Deepening the kiss, he pressed his tongue against hers, tasting Skywalker in her mouth. Elegant fingers stroked her throat, lifted to brush his knuckles along her jawline. 

Skywalker made a choked noise. Thrawn lifted his head, breaking the kiss. Feeling dazed, Mara followed his gaze, and found an expression on Skywalker’s face that no doubt mirrored her own: slack-jawed, dazed, hungry. 

“Thrawn—” Skywalker’s voice was ragged. “Please—” 

“Please—” she echoed. “Please fuck me.” 

His chuckle was warm against her neck. “I’m going to fuck you,” he purred in her ear, “and then I’m going to fuck him.” 


	4. Chapter 4

She made it as far as the edge of Thrawn’s bed. The sheets were grey, and made of fine fibers, soft under her fingers. Skywalker’s hair was soft too, and golden under her hands as she held him between her legs, perched at the edge of the bed. 

She kept her eyes front, as she had been ordered, on Thrawn as he removed his boots and stripped away the rest of his clothes. His movements were systematic and efficient, without the need to make a show out of their removal. There was a long thin scar across his left bicep, and a spattering of small shrapnel scars across his chest, the damaged tissue a light blue compared to the deep hue of his skin. His cock curved up against his stomach, an alluring shade of deep indigo. 

Mara’s breath hitched as Skywalker left off the gentle lathing of her vulva and tapped at her clit with the tip of his tongue. A smirk creased the corner of Thrawn’s mouth, as he came to stand in front of them. 

“Move back on the bed,” Thrawn said, in a tone that made her feel like fire whiskey was being poured into her veins. 

Skywalker looked startled when she pushed him away, his lips flushed dark and smeared with her fluids. He blinked and seemed to come back to himself, leaving a sticky kiss on her thigh before she slid away and crawled back onto the center of the bed. Skywalker scrambled after her. As soon as she stretched out, Skywalker was on top of her, his body a pleasant weight, their legs tangled together. She could taste herself as he kissed her. 

She felt Skywalker at the edge of her awareness, his presence brushing up against hers. It felt as though he was using the Force to stoke her lust by letting her sense the strength of the arousal pulsing through him. 

Like a feedback loop. She hadn’t known that was possible. 

“Eyes on me,” Thrawn said, low and firm. She tore her mouth away from Luke and fixed on him again. Undeterred—ignoring Thrawn’s command—Skywalker ran his tongue down her neck and bit at her collarbone. 

Thrawn stood at the foot of the bed, stroking his cock. His hand was wet. _ Lubrication, _her muddled mind supplied after a moment. There was a bottle tossed on the sheets near Skywalker’s feet. 

Now that her eyes were on him, Thrawn knelt on the edge of the bed. He paused for a moment, as though considering the bodies entangled in front of him, before bending forward and stretching himself along her side. He propped his hand up on one arm and watched as Skywalker traced her collar bone with his tongue, head dipping down toward her breasts. 

“Skywalker—” she exhaled as he sucked hard on the tip. The sensation shot down to her cunt. 

“You can call me Luke,” he said with a breathless laugh as he glanced up at her, damp hair falling into his eyes. 

“Luke,” she said, and felt his cock twitch wetly across her hip. 

“Mara,” he returned, as though he couldn’t help himself from saying her name. 

She’d already forgotten what she was going to say to Skywalker. To Luke. 

Brow furrowing, she twisted her head around to look up at Thrawn. “M-Mitth…” 

“Thrawn,” he purred, “is acceptable.” He dragged his thumb over the tender spot on her shoulder where Luke had bitten her earlier that night, marking her. “Say it.” 

“Thrawn,” she breathed. Thrawn pressed his hand to her cheek, turning her mouth up to meet his, his kiss firm and insistent. She had to catch her breath when he lifted his head. 

Luke echoed her, and Thrawn reached out to caress the back of Luke’s neck, stroking gently as Luke leaned into the touch. 

His head still bent over her breast, Luke shifted, moving so that hips aligned with hers. _ Wait, _ she thought, though the words never made it out of her head. He didn’t have Thrawn’s permission to fuck her. Her hips jerked up into his before she could stop herself, his cock sliding over her folds. 

Thrawn’s hand slid from Luke’s neck into his hair, gripping and yanking the other man’s head up. 

“Patience,” Thrawn growled. 

Luke rolled off of her immediately, flopping back on the bed like a nek hound with its belly exposed to its pack leader. He was panting, his chest rising and falling as he lay prone. “Sir?” he gasped. 

“Patience,” Thrawn repeated, though he looked down at her as he spoke. 

_ Patience. _ She could be patient. She could be anything he wanted, if only he let her _ come _again. She bit her lip, holding still as his fingers ran lightly across her sternum. She’d watched those long, elegant fingers all night, wrapped around his wine glass, doing wicked things to Luke or signaling wicked things Luke did to her, and now she wanted to suck them into her mouth—or into her cunt.

_ Patience. _She looked away, up into Thrawn’s face. He was utterly absorbed in the movement of his hand as it tracked down her body. His eyes were still the deep red of arousal, the faint line of his pupils following the path he drew down her belly and between her legs. She wanted to lick her way across his chest, to follow the flushed purple streaks up the side of his neck with her tongue. Her hands were starting to shake with the need to touch him—or Luke. 

Luke had curled close to her other side, mouthing along the side of her breast, his tongue flicking out to tease a nipple, already tender from his earlier ministrations. She whined in spite of herself, and could feel an echo of smug satisfaction at the edge of her consciousness. 

Despite her intention to remain still, _ patient, _ she arched up as Thrawn sank his fingers into her. “Kriff. Yes.” _ Patience— _forced her body to settle against the sheets again, her breath going shallow with the effort. He wanted her pliant, bending to his will, accepting whatever he offered. 

Thrawn made an approving hum. “That’s it,” he said. “Much better.” The words hit the base of her spine and shot through her like a blaster bolt. Beside her Luke let out a shuddering breath, the warmth of it ghosting against her breast. 

Thrawn’s fingers began to move inside of her, stroking and curling up to hit that spot—then slid away, to circle her clit. A steady stream of needy, keening cries began to fall from her mouth as she struggled not to move, lost in the sensations Thrawn was pulling from her body. 

“She’s getting close,” she heard Luke say. 

“She is, isn’t she?” Thrawn’s hand stopped moving. 

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at Luke, who just grinned, unrepentant. 

“Thrawn—” Words. Words were too difficult. 

“Hmm?” He arched an eyebrow, and let a fingertip idly circle her clit, causing her to squirm. He _ liked _ this game—drawing her into a fevered state and holding her above the drop. It wasn’t a game she was used to playing; not with players who could coax her body into such heights. 

“I—can I—_ please?” _

“Not yet.” 

Another protest escaped her as Thrawn removed his hand entirely. Lifting wet fingers to his mouth, he licked at the at the tips as though considering the taste. Luke groaned softly, lifting his head to watch as Thrawn sucked them clean. 

Thrawn’s eyes met hers. “On your hands and knees,” he ordered. 

She flipped over without hesitation, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. 

“Good girl.” 

Her stomach clenched at the words, and she looked up to seek the approval shining in his eyes. The bed dipped slightly as he pushed himself up, moving around and behind her. She could hear Luke shifting position as well, sitting back on his knees. Thrawn traced a hand down her spine, flattening over her buttocks and then dipping down between her legs. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Ch’eo bat bun’is.” 

His hand moved away and she held her breath as he lined up his cock, a low moan rolling out of her as he pushed into her. His hands wrapped around her hips and the pace he set was deliberately, maddeningly measured—an agonizingly slow inward thrust, followed by the leisurely slide of his cock pulling away, then he paused—while she clawed at the sheets, panting for more—before plunging in again. 

“May I touch myself, sir?” she heard Luke say breathlessly. Looking up, she could see his gaze fixed on Thrawn, his hands clenched on his knees. 

“No,” Thrawn said. 

Luke _ whimpered, _ a frustrated, pitiful sound that drew a soft laugh out of Thrawn. She twisted her head around to see Thrawn looking down at her, amused. 

His eyes met hers. “Take her mouth.” 

Luke’s breath hitched. “Thank you, sir.” Turning back, she watched Luke scoot over the sheet to position himself in front of her. 

Though he’d already received Thrawn’s permission, he met her eyes. “Mara—please?”

Ducking her head, she took Luke’s cock into her mouth again, loosening her jaw around his girth. The angle was awkward, and she let him take control, sliding shallowly through her lips. His hands came to rest on her face, a gentle pressure holding her head in place. 

Thrawn drove smoothly—relentlessly—into her and she lost herself in the rhythm—there was nothing but the sensation of the two men taking her, claiming her. 

She could hear Luke’s breathing pick up pace, his hips beginning to jerk and stutter. He cried out as she opened her throat and swallowed him down, his fingers shaking. He was close. 

One of Thrawn’s hands moved from her hip to fist in her hair, yanking her head up. Luke’s cock fell from her lips. 

“No.” His accent was thicker than she’d ever heard it, his Basic almost stilted. “Do not make him come,” he ordered, dropping her head. 

Luke flopped back on his heels with a groan. 

The hand in her hair loosened, fingers sliding down her neck to spread between her shoulder blades. Thrawn let his hand rest there, for a moment, and then pushed down. Mara folded her arms instantly, dropping forward to press her face and chest into the sheets, her hips still raised to meet his thrusts. 

“Mar. Good.” 

The world narrowed to the feel of Thrawn’s cock driving into her. He began to thrust harder, rutting into her, fingers digging at her hips, nails biting skin. That was better. 

“More,” she keened. “More. Please. More.” 

Luke crouched in front of her, pressing his temple to hers. Her breath escaped in a whine as the physical touch intensifying the feedback loop between them. 

Luke babbled in her ear. “—you should see his face as he fucks you—you’re so beautiful—Force, you’re so beautiful together—”

She let loose a high, cracked cry as she came, climax cresting over her like a wave, dragging her into deep, inky depths. Thrawn pulled away and she collapsed forward, everything warm and hazy. Her hips were bruised where Thrawn had gripped them to keep from coming when she’d seized around his cock. 

He’d still been hard. She managed to turn her head and look over her shoulder, even though her muscles felt like mush and still spasmed with aftershocks. Thrawn had dropped back on his knees, breathing hard and squeezing the base of his cock in one hand. His face twisted as struggled to bring himself back under control, chest heaving with the strain of holding back. He sagged sideways on one arm. When he opened his eyes, they were clear and focused, though still shaded dark red with arousal. 

She wouldn’t have minded if he came on her. The thought of him splattering himself over the skin of her ass and back sent another series of jolts through her, and she twitched helplessly as she lay sprawled on the sheets. 

“Mara.” Luke slid alongside her, hand reaching out to touch her cheek. “That was beautiful, Mara.” 

“Luke,” she managed in a rough whisper. Everything felt slightly out of focus. 

Luke coaxed her onto her side, her head onto a pillow, so that she faced him, his hand stroking lazily up her side as he kissed her. 

She was vaguely aware that Thrawn had positioned himself behind Luke but it seemed like a far off concern until Luke made a pleased, surprised sound against her mouth. 

Thrawn leaned in, his teeth scraping at Luke’s neck and drawing a muffled cry from him. “Would you like your reward for your patience?” 

“Yes,” Luke rasped. “_ Please _. Yes.” 

She heard the click of a bottle and then the soft sounds of Thrawn preparing him. It was her turn to watch; his flushed face a few handbreadths from hers, close enough to see every expression that moved across it as Thrawn opened him up. 

Luke’s brow twisted, his mouth falling open in a long, low groan as Thrawn finally thrust in and began to move. Reaching down, she took hold of Luke’s cock, letting her fingers play across his length. 

“Mara—yes—unh—” The husky quality of his voice, rough and fuck-drunk as he said her name tugged at her core. The words trailed off into a series of breathy, whining moans. 

Thrawn began to fuck Luke harder. The muscles along his arm tensed as he tightened his grip on Luke’s hip, the wet slide and sharp slap of flesh meeting picking up tempo. A stream of incomprehensible Cheunh spilled over the curve of Luke’s shoulder. Thrawn was on the precipice, his face going slack with pleasure, knuckles white at Luke’s hips. 

Luke’s eyes flew open and fixed on her face. “I want to come inside you,” he gasped. He turned his head, hand reaching to press the long blue fingers at his waist. “May I?” he asked Thrawn. 

_ “Mar _—yes.” 

Luke’s hands flew to her waist. She hooked her knee over his hip and shifted so that she could take his cock into her. Behind him, Thrawn ducked his head into Luke’s shoulder, letting out a garbled shout as came. Luke pressed his face into her neck as he rocked up into her, once, twice, and then his orgasm took hold of him, his pleasure washing over her as well. 

She drifted for a while. 

Luke had pulled her closer, arms wrapped around her, his breath on her neck. She could hear the soft sound of Thrawn breathing on the other side of Luke; knew he was pressed as close to Luke’s back as Luke was holding her. 

She stirred as she felt a hand at her temple, fingers smoothing over hair. Thrawn had propped himself on one arm, his other arm reaching across Luke’s body and his hand in her hair, examining the strands between his fingers. 

“I did not expect,” he began softly, pausing as though he were still working out the right phrasing. “To be so… _ satisfied _ with my gifts. I was wrong to think that you weren’t worth my time.” 

It was instinctual to fall back into the manner of the courtier. “We have other skills to offer, my Lord,” she murmured, offering him a smile that was probably more dazed than coy. Thrawn’s stiff, blue-black hair had been helplessly tousled, and the sight of him comfortably disheveled made something in her chest twinge. 

“Hmm. I have heard.” He looked as smug as a tooka who had killed a hawk-bat. 

“Mara’s talented,” Luke mumbled, voice half-muffled by the pillow. 

“I am very aware,” Thrawn said. 

Luke shook his head, his eyes still closed. “She’s Force sensitive. Trained to use the Force.” 

Mara’s eyes widened, shock locking her frozen. _ He didn’t just—? _

Her master had forbidden her from even speaking of her abilities or revealing that he had trained her himself. Even without the implied threat of punishment should she ever let the information slip, she had never even considered speaking of it to anyone. 

No one trusted a Force-sensitive, and associating with one was illegal. If anyone knew that she had used her abilities to manipulate and spy for her master—instead of playing by the usual bedroom and blackmail rules—her standing in the Court, no matter how much the Emperor favored her, would be finished. 

And the Court—the Court was all she knew. 

Luke’s eyes blinked open and fixed on her face, though his expression was confused, as if he hadn’t just told Thrawn information, which in the wrong hands, could ruin her. 

Thrawn’s hand smoothed across her cheek in a caress. “Ah. I am very pleased with my gifts,” he said. 

“Thrawn—” she began, her voice hoarse. She could deny it. Thrawn was still watching her with a contented expression on his face, the corners of his lips pitched ever so slightly upward, the edges of his eyes crinkled. His thumb rubbed rhythmically over her cheekbone, and she faltered, the lie dying on her lips. 

Thrawn lowered his head, his mouth close to Luke’s ear. She could feel Luke’s cock twitch, interested, against her thigh. “Mara is entrusting us with a great secret. A dangerous secret. What secret can you offer her in return?” 

Luke’s eyes locked on hers, the irises a murky blue. “Five years ago, I ran away from Naboo and joined the Rebellion. They sent me back when they found out who I was. I mean, who my parents were. My mother—” He shifted his jaw, gaze growing distant. They sharpened on her again. “I was trained by Rebel Jedi. Before I began training with my father.” 

Mara let out a slow breath. “As a Jedi?” she breathed. 

“Yes.” 

The Emperor would execute him for that, no matter who his father was. Not before torturing him for any information he might have on the Rebellion and its Jedi. 

Thrawn made a humming sound, as though it were merely a bit of interesting trivia. “You will have to tell me more about these talents you share. Later.” 

Luke twisted his head back to look at Thrawn, his brow furrowing as he focused on Thrawn’s face. “What’s your secret?” 

“He’s our _ keeper,” _ Mara hissed. 

Thrawn didn’t reprimand Luke. His hand slid down to rest in the curve of her neck, fingers still stroking idly. 

“I intend to rule the Empire one day. I would prefer to do it with the Emperor’s blessing, but if not, I will take it when the time comes.” 

It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So. We all hold each other’s secrets. They will not leave this bed.” 

“Yes, sir,” Luke said, the phrase a bit breathless. He understood the stakes, and he had just given his loyalty to Thrawn. 

“Mara?” Thrawn prompted. 

Luke twisted his head back around to face her. Thrawn’s expression was calm as he watched her over Luke’s shoulder. 

“You’re asking—“ The words caught, dragging through her throat. 

“Yes.” Thrawn’s fingers brushed her neck, gliding up from her pulse. 

“Please say yes,” Luke crooned, nuzzling the side of her face. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, head spinning. This was _ treason. _ They would die, painfully, at the hands of her Master if she breathed a word to him. 

What he did to traitors was unspeakable. 

“We are all vulnerable to each other now,” Thrawn said softly. 

Luke may have been carelessly indiscreet, but Thrawn was a strategist. He wouldn’t have given his secrets away lightly. He wanted them both at on his side. He _wanted_ _them. _

“Mara?” Luke, gentle, in her ear. “Are you with us?” 

“Yes.” The word rushed out of her mouth before she realized that she’d made a decision; the most significant choice she would ever make. 

The swell of emotion from the both of them hit her hard, and she shut her eyes against the blinding smile that lit up Luke’s face. 

“Good girl,” Thrawn said. He cupped her face and she leaned into the touch. 

“Thank you, Mara,” Luke said as lightly as if it hadn’t been a choice of any importance. 

“My gifts,” Thrawn said, his voice soft. “Bah var tar ch’eo k’tin’v, veah tuzir ch’ah ch’in’vah?” 

Luke chose that moment to yawn, his jaw cracking loudly. “Tired—gonna sleep—”

Mara started to push herself up. They’d been invited to have sex in his bed, not _ sleep _ there. All confessions aside—

“Mara?” Luke asked, his expression confused. 

“We shouldn’t—” 

“Mara,” Thrawn spoke. It had the ring of command, and she froze as he sat up as well. He reached across Luke to take her face between his hands. “You did very well. You please me.” Her eyes fell shut as he kissed her forehead. 

“But—” 

“You can return to your rooms in the morning.” 

Her heart clenched. She’d done well. She’d earned her place in his bed. In return he’d given her the power to undo him—given it freely. 

A gift. She was his and they were hers. 

“—can fuck again in the morning.” Luke mumbled, tugging at her elbow. 

“Indeed,” Thrawn said, amusement in his voice. “In the morning.” 

She let them draw her back down again, into their arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheunh translations: 
> 
> Mar — yes  
Ch’eo bat bun’is — My beautiful gift.  
Bah var tar ch’eo k’tin’v, veah tuzir ch’ah cant ch’in’vah? — With you by my side, how could I fail?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Impetuous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21267005) by [evilmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse)
  * [Equilibrium](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267723) by [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith)


End file.
